Thursday, March 28, 2013

potatoes gonna potate

I'm tired. The greed. And selfishness. Among human beings. It's as if I can't involve myself with what makes me happy without being policed or attracting hostility. I don't understand what it is. Do you dislike me for my sometimes extremist feminist points of view? Or because I'm pursuing the shit I wanna do? Is it my enthusiasm? Independence? Whether you're carving bitch under my name on school property, harassing my writing skills through dumb-shit comments on this blog, or just being very unsupportive by telling me I'm doing too much, that I should cut down on the involvement, or when you learn that I'm pursuing projects in fields that your mind is outright incapable of understanding and you stand there staring at me like, "Oh yeah, that's cool" but your facial expression reads,

I'm not about to quiet down or conform to a generic, unfulfilling lifestyle. If you're that unhappy, you should see someone.

Here's the thing, hate resonates more than positive support. It sticks to me. I remember it and keep wondering why? Should I feel threatened? Anxious. Pooped on. Negativity stinks. Maybe I'm not cut out for what I'm doing. Always giving a two shit flying fuck about what others think and say. 'Haters are my motivators'. Actually, no. My friends, parents&sisters are my biggest motivators. Though my parents have not a clue as to what I'm doing and why I'm doing some of the things I'm doing, they let me do me.I'm going to stop violence against women.Do it.I want Bangladeshi women to have access to reproductive health care [I don't dare say condoms though]. Do it. I'm getting a PhD. Do it. Sabia, Sazia, and friends are very much annoyed by my feminist sermons even when race/gender/sex/sexuality are not implied. But it's totally implied. Always implied. They look out for me though. Continuously fueling me. To continue. Being. Doing (no pun intended). Me.

My sister's gonna help South Asian women, like Bengalis, Indians, and Pakistanis.

LOL, Sazia.

Or when I make a fuss about women's rights over dinner conversations which should only be about sex. Because that's just all we talk about now. Sex.Sex. Sex. Who knew that sex is all we'd be talking about once we hit our 20s? Or is that just my group of friends and I?

On another note though, what about Lupus? I'm in remission and haven't experienced any additional pains or flares [relapse of the disease after a period(s) of improvement]. Or else I'd actually be miserable. At the same time, it's as if no one wants to know about that part of me. The new know nothing about Lupus unless they delve into my blogosphere. Or ask about my scars. Hi, my name is Shahana Hanif and I have Lupus. Maybe not that abruptly. I knew it was visible, and thus, this is how I used to introduce myself. I was Lupus. On the real though, it's very rare to meet someone who actually wants to know you. Me. Relationships are so dull. Fickle. No one talks. It's all laughs and alcohol. And even if we're aware that we're dealing with shit, we're just like life's good. ALL IZZ WELL.

But friends who've seen/endured the struggles and have been a part of it...never ask how I'm doing. How I'm handling myself. Before, I was a limping, swollen, anemic mess. Now that I've progressed (as some have mentioned in regards to my weight/appearance), Lupus is forgotten. It's a challenge because even I'm forgetful or apathetic about Lupus. It's there, but not so much. Why is it so difficult to accept this newness? I reward my seemingly improved health by skipping medications. I haven't visited any of my doctors since the Spring semester began. I could be putting myself in a lot of danger, but I just don't know anymore. I don't care anymore. YOLO? This is probably not a good time to make a joke.

Are you taking care of your body/Lupus? Don't forget about your health in the hype of activism.